


I Want You To Know

by FeelsForBreakfast



Series: Holigay Oneshots [7]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, dirtyartkid!harry, excitablechoirkid!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelsForBreakfast/pseuds/FeelsForBreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gets a series of mysterious gifts from a secret admirer and is introduced to Louis. These events are obviously not related.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want You To Know

**Author's Note:**

> The song I mention later is www.youtube.com/watch?v=B092vUWtQ_0 Lovely isn't it? (:

Harry gets the first gift on December 15th. 

He’s tired and when it falls out of his locker and nearly hits him in the face, he almost jumps out of his skin. He’s been at school since 6:30 working on his newest art project, a ceramic bowl that has plans to become navy but is currently a pale blue, and he’s just gotten his locker open when the holiday projectile startles him unkindly from his near slumber. 

It’s just a small bag, green and red striped with a cheery Merry Christmas! printed across the front. He tilts it, trying to find some kind of tag but coming up with nothing.

“You’ve got clay in your hair, Haz.” Zayn says from where he’s leaned against the locker next to theirs, though he’s not really one to talk, the cuffs of his blue flannel caked with paint. “And on your elbow.”

“Fuck off, art freak.” Harry grumbles, a morning person as always, peering into the tissue paper.

“What’s that?” Zayn presses, leaning too far into Harry’s space. He smells like cigarettes, paint, and hair gel and Harry loves him but he’s also annoying as shit. 

“Well fuck if I know, Zayn, it almost hit me in the fucking face.” Harry replies scathingly, finding a note written on a yellowing index card and pulling it out.

Zayn makes an offended noise. “Think you could fit another fuck in that sentence?”

“If I tried really fucking hard.” Harry replies, looking down to read the thing. Whoever wrote it has neat, boyish handwriting, letters flowing together and looping up at neat points, and Harry doesn’t recognize it. The note itself is short, just two lines.

 

_Hi Harry,_

_Fancy a kiss or two?_

 

His eyebrows disappear into his curls as he reaches into the bag, pulling out five hershey’s kisses. Zayn rests his chin on his shoulder, letting out an amused hoot when he sees the contents of the bag.

“You’ve got yourself a secret admirer.” Zayn teases, looking far too pleased about the whole thing. “You’ve got a secret admirer and they want to kisssss youuu!”

Harry scowls, pushing the kisses into Zayn’s hands. (He knows there’s still one in the bag. He’ll eat it during math later and feel only a little bit badly. He keeps the note too, shoving it carelessly - but not too carelessly - into his English folder as soon as he gets to class. He makes sure no one sees.) “It’s probably just Liam or someone messing around.” Liam is the jock of their group, the popular, sweet football player Zayn somehow got to be his boyfriend, and Harry doesn’t really think this is Liam’s doing, but it’s easier than admitting he has an admirer. Because that is just a set up for disappointment.

Zayn makes a face. “Are you saying that my boyfriend is sending you kisses?” He laughs, eyes squeezing shut as he tips his head back. “That’s rich Harry. Someone likes you.”

Harry scowls, an expression that’s starting to feel at home on his face. “I’m just saying that its probably someone having a laugh.” He shoves a finger at Zayn. “Maybe its you!”

Zayn holds his hands up in innocence. “I don’t love you enough to pull that kind of shit, mate.”

Harry rolls his eyes, slamming his locker shut and trying not to think too hard about this. It’s just a few pieces of chocolate and a stupid little note. 

He sighs as he follows Zayn down the hallway, his stupid quiff bopping every time he moves. He couldn’t have a secret admirer because no one notices him. He’s not admirable, he’s Harry. 

He tries not to feel the smallest bit giddy anyway.

 

xx

 

The second gift comes to him on December 18th, one of the worst days he’s had in a long time. 

His mum and sister fought the whole night before. (He doesn’t even remember how it started, but somehow it ended up being about how Gemma doesn’t have a plan and you can’t get a scholarship with a B average young lady, and Harry just hid his pillow and tried to pretend that pottery was a legitimate career option.) Not to mention that D and F progress reports have come in and he has a D in Chemistry which is completely not his fault. Well maybe it is. It isn’t like he can help being completely shit at whatever the hell balancing equations is.

Harry has been in the art program long enough that he has an art station in the corner of the arm room. It’s right next to Zayn’s and his ever growing collection of paintings, colorful canvasses that are always encroaching on his space, the tiny alcove where he keeps the pottery wheel he named Sam and decided is his. There are a few charcoal drawings too, one of Zayn that he’s particularly proud of, but it’s mostly just mugs and vases and delicately glazed bowls piled on the floor and on the probably unstable shelf he constructed two years ago.

In the center of his pottery wheel is a large glass coke bottle, filled halfway up with water, a wire flower stuck inside. It’s crude, but sweet somehow, a green stem and pale blue petals curved around a shiny yellow bead. The note is resting up against it, that same loopy handwriting he still doesn’t recognize.

 

_Hi Harry,_

_So it turns out no actual flowers grow in December. Who knew?_

_Also, you should smile more, it makes your face go all cute._

 

He looks around, tucking the note quickly into his pocket and putting a dour expression on his face for good measure. He doesn’t know who has decided to have him on, but he’s not going to fall for their ridiculousness and supposed love of his smile.

If he’s being honest, if the notes didn’t have his name on them he’d be sure they were for someone else. It’s not like he’s being down on himself, that isn’t the problem, but this sort of thing just doesn’t happen to him. 

He sighs, pouring the water in the sink and throwing the bottle into the recycling bin.

If he carefully takes the flower out and places it at the very back of his shelf, well that’s his business.

 

xx

 

Perrie introduces Louis to Harry on December 19th, the day after the flower incident. He’s new this year from Doncaster (from one shitty british town to another, he says with a wry grin) and he’s on the football team with Liam and Stan, taking over as running back after Aiden was taken out for knee surgery.

Perrie, show choir girl extraordinaire, has snuck Zayn, Liam, and Harry into the choir dressing room for lunch, sparing them the overall grossness of the cafeteria. The space is fairly cozy, glittery costumes hanging from racks and abandoned cans of hairspray on the counter by the mirror, and it’s a definite upgrade from the lunch room. 

“So you do pottery?” Asks Louis, who is somehow friends with all of Harry’s friends but not Harry himself, leaning across the circle to talk to him, a half eaten apple hanging from his fingers. As it turns out, Louis can not only play sports, but sing and dance as well, which makes Harry hate him a little bit. Successful functioning humans make him annoyed, it’s nothing personal.

“I do.” Harry replies, spooning lukewarm tomato soup out of his thermos. The thing is, Louis looks genuinely interested, his big blue eyes have gone all wide and sparkly and Harry almost feels bad for giving him the cold shoulder. “It’s not like, a thing. I just enjoy it.”

Zayn gives him a look, then leans conspiratorially towards Louis. “It’s totally a thing. He’s obsessed.”

Harry kicks him in the thigh with one of his black vans. “I’m not obsessed.”

Zayn gives him an incredulous look. “Mate you literally talked to me about glazes for an hour. You’re obsessed.”

Louis somehow looks even more interested than before. “That’s really cool! So you make like, big pots and stuff?”

Harry shrugs, trying not to get all squirmy under Louis’ scrutiny. His enthusiasm with life is a bit much for Harry to take in, he’s used to Zayn, who is enthusiastic about art and Liam, but not really much else. “Yeah, a few. I made my mum a big green one for her birthday last year.” He sets down his thermos, miming a size. “Like, I carved a couple of leaves around the rim and painted a few mushrooms at the bottom. It was pretty difficult actually. I do the painting thing usually, but I’m still a bit shit at carving, and the clay really wanted to collapse? But it turned out really cool. I really like incorporating flora and fauna into pottery, I had a whole series of like, white leaf bowls I did last year where I painted bright colored trees onto the leaves. Called it the Neon Trees, you know, like the band?”

At which point he realizes that most of the people in the circle have never seen him string together a sentence too far over 150 characters. Liam is looking at him with this funny look on his face that’s a little bit confused and a little bit pleased, Perrie looks like a two year old confronted with a puppy, and Harry is pretty sure Zayn is about to piss himself with glee.

But he can’t seem to make himself look away from Louis, who is grinning at him from underneath his fringe like he’s just cured cancer or something, his stupidly blue eyes all lit up. It’s just, he’s not used to people directing that sort of mind numbing excitement at him. He’s had it around him, like how Zayn looks when Liam makes a particularly good throw or when Perrie is watching her shows, but its not something people usually have on their face when they look at him.

“Do you still have them?” Louis asks, his voice so sincere and earnest that Harry doesn’t really know how to respond. “I really want to see.”

He ducks his head back into his collar, hiding behind his tomato soup as Perrie giggles at him. “Yeah, I mean, sure. Sometime.” He tries to resume his usual role as quiet, broody artist type, fully relieved when Liam redirects their conversations to what exactly they’re planning to do this weekend. 

He tries not to notice the way Louis’ gaze keeps flickering back to him.

Tries not to think about his blue eyes.

Tries not to think about something other than the words “I really want to see.”

No one really ever has before.

 

xx

 

“Oh Haz, you are so fucked.” Zayn says as they enter Economics the next day. “I don’t think I’ve seen you talk that much to anyone since me.”

Harry gives him a dark look, dropping his backpack on the floor and flopping into his chair. “It has officially been twenty-four hours, haven’t you found something else to freak out about yet?”

“Nope.” Zayn replies gleefully, sliding into the desk next to him and pulling out his sketchpad. Zayn likes to optimize his drawing during class time by not even attempting to pay attention. Harry usually likes to at least pretend he might actually take notes before giving up and dozing off, but at least Zayn’s being honest about the whole thing. “You like him! That’s great! He’s nice and sweet and he wants to listen to you talk about pottery, what’s the problem here?”

“Don’t like him.” Harry mutters underneath his breath as he reaches into his bag, pulling out his econ folder and slapping it open on his desk before diving back in for his notebook.

Zayn lets out a noise that makes Harry extremely nervous. “WHAT IS THAT, HAZZA?”

“What is what.” Harry replies tiredly, digging around in the vain hope that maybe there’s a pencil somewhere in the bottom of his backpack.

“This lovely drawing!” Before Harry can wonder A. why one of his sketches is in his economics folder and B. why Zayn is so excited about this, the dark haired boy is diving across his desk and pulling the drawing out. “HARRY. YOUR SECRET ADMIRER.”

Oh brilliant. “Give me the drawing, Zayn.” Harry says, giving Zayn his best beseeching look. 

“So I tried to draw you. I didn’t try very hard, but that has less to do with my affections for you and more to do with how truly terrible I am at drawing. Unfortunately you seem to be the artist in this relationship. Also, I like how your voice sounds.” Zayn reads, practically bouncing out of his seat, sneaking looks over at Harry to see just how pink his cheeks have gotten, which is, needless to say, very pink. “Oh its so romantic!”

“Zayn you are a thirteen year old girl.” Harry replies into his hands. “Give me the drawing.”

“Why? If you don’t care so much maybe I’ll just keep it.” Zayn taunts, holding it out of his reach, seeming to enjoy Harry’s misery far too much. The truth is, Zayn is an overly perceptive asshole, and Harry hates him a lot sometimes.

“I just want to see it.” Harry replies, hiding behind one of his hands and sticking the other one out.

Zayn takes pity on him, placing the paper back on his desk with evident amusement. Harry peers at it, unable to keep a smile off his face when he finds a stick figure of himself smiling back up at him. He’s got lime eyes and a huge bundle of brown scribbles that he thinks are supposed to be his curls. It’s really not all that inaccurate, his mop of hair is getting a little bit ridiculous.

Underneath is the bit Zayn read, familiar smooth handwriting in red colored pencil. There are two xx’s at the end, and that makes Harry’s stomach twist a little bit. It only takes a quick glance at Zayn to know that he noticed them too, and was just waiting for Harry to.

“I don’t like how funny you’re finding this.” Harry gripes.

Zayn shrugs innocently, making kissy faces at Harry until he flips him the bird. “You’re funny when you’re flustered. Nobody ever gets under your skin, this is like a once a year opportunity.”

“God I hate you.” He replies, because he’s pretty sure than any denials would just end with him getting laughed at. 

If Harry sticks the drawing back into his economics folder behind a packet on the business cycle, Zayn pretends not to notice.

 

xx

 

“HARRY, HARRY!” He stops, vaguely aware that his name is being called as he heads toward the art room to finish the pendant he’s making Gemma for Christmas. He’s about to continue on and hope that a different Harry is being summoned when Louis nearly barrels into him, looking far to excited for someone who’s just finished a long school day. “Hi Harry.”

He tries not to look too much like a deer in headlights as Louis comes to a complete halt in front of him. “Hi?”

Louis grins. “Where are you going?”

Harry snorts out a laugh before he can wonder if that’s a socially acceptable response. “Did you seriously just sprint down the hallway just to ask where I was going?”

“Yeah?” Louis replies, suddenly a little sheepish. “I mean I was just wondering. I have rehearsal at 5, but I don’t really want to go home first so...”

Harry lets out a tiny little sigh, feeling more amused about the whole situation than anything. “I’m going to the art room. You can come if you’d like.”

Louis’ face, which had fallen the smallest bit, picks right back up as he nods excitedly. “That sounds fun!” He sobers up, almost visibly reining his enthusiasm back in. “I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

Harry shrugs, starting towards the art room, this time with Louis next to him. “I don’t mind a little background noise. You can talk at me all you’d like.”

That seems to please him, adding a little skip in his step as they turn down the stairs and through the mural covered doors. “I’ve only been in here like, twice.” Louis says, looking around at the bright room. The snow glitters and sends sunlight through the picture windows, casting the long paint splattered tables and easels in bright light. There are a few grimy art kids and pretty hipsters fluttering around the room, a few of which give Harry friendly nods as he sets his backpack down and pushes up his sleeves.

“I’ve only been in here about nine million times.” Harry replies, smiling when Louis lets out a giggle even though he’s really not being all that funny. 

“You seem comfortable here.” Louis observes, sitting on the messy concrete floor. “I mean, not that you aren’t comfortable other places just...”

Harry nods, pulling the pendant out and heading over to the paints, picking cobalt and scarlet tubes from the stash. “I know. It’s nice in here. Peaceful.”

Louis nods, sliding onto the stool next to Harry as he sets up, squeezing paint onto a paper plate and mixing it about with a delicate brush. “I know what you mean. Show choir people never shut up. Everything is either the best thing that’s ever happened to them or a complete disaster. And it always involves screaming.”

Harry cracks a smile, setting in on a base coat of dark blue. “Sounds like Zayn.”

“He’s rather excitable.” Louis concedes, setting his elbows on the table and looking up at Harry. “You furrow your brow when you paint.”

“You like to make observations about me and then say them out loud.” Harry replies, holding the pendant up to the light.

“You’re fun to watch.”

“Am I though?” Harry asks, pausing to raise his eyebrows at Louis, the sunlight resting on his chestnut hair and lighting him up. He looks like summer dappled water in the middle of Harry’s winter and he wants to sketch him in charcoal even though he’s never had an eye for detail like Zayn does. He wishes he could sculpt him, shove a lump of clay on the wheel and somehow end up with a cup the blue of his eyes and a handle the quirk of his lips.

Louis nods. “Especially when you smile.”

He fights a grin and hopes his mop of hair hides his blush, looking back down at his project and trying not to think too hard about the implications of that statement.

His mysterious gift giver is not Louis. Louis is frenetic and blue and Harry is nothing of the sort.

He isn’t Harry’s secret admirer, but maybe Harry wishes he was.

 

xx

 

The tiny, gift wrapped box is sitting on his doorstep when he gets home from Zayn’s on Friday night. He reaches down for it, turning it over to find his name printed on the bottom in the now familiar loose handwriting, two xs signed off underneath.

He shakes it, hearing something small rattle around inside, and sticks it in his pocket as he heads through the door, calling out a quick greeting to his mom as he skips up the stairs to his room. 

He sits down on his quilt, kicking his shoes across his carpet and starting in on the package, carefully peeling back the wrapping to reveal a plain box. Inside is a nondescript flashdrive and a handwritten note. He examines the flashdrive as he waits for his laptop to boot up, setting the note on his desk to save a little longer.

He isn’t willing to admit it out loud yet, but there’s something lovely about the gifts and the notes and having someone who cares enough to do something like that for him. He wonders who they could be, tries not to think about cheekbones and sweet smiles because he’s not that much of a dreamer, really. 

He jams the flashdrive into one of the ports as soon as his brick of a laptop whirrs itself awake, clicking on it to find nothing more than a single mp3 file, titled, simply enough, You. He peers at for a moment, as if maybe something more explanatory will pop up, before giving it a swift double click, smiling to himself as the slow strum of guitar and soft vocals drip through his speakers.

He picks up the note, unfolding it with careful fingers as the verse continues, slowly growing in the dim light of his room. 

 

_Hi Harry._

_Hope this isn’t too weird, but I guess I wanted to send you a song? And I thought this one was pretty and you’re pretty so I hope you can see where I made this connection. I think this might be weird. Hopefully you don’t think I’m weird now. I don’t think you’re weird. I think you’re completely lovely._

_Merry Christmas xx_

 

Harry lets his fingers trace over the tiny indents in the paper where the pen dotted the is and the two sharp xs he’s starting to like more than he should. 

“I don’t think you’re weird either.” He whispers to his empty room, a little pleased tilt to his lips. 

He tucks the note in the top drawer of his desk and gets ready for bed, school and life and having to function like a normal human making his bones ache with tiredness. He switches off his lights and turns the screen on his laptop all the way down, and maybe he listens to the song until he goes to sleep.

It doesn’t mean anything.

 

_I want you to know you’re the first thought, I want you to know the grace you’re made of, I want you to feel that you’re mine dear._

_I want you to know._

 

xx

 

When Harry enters the art room before school starts that monday, Louis is sitting on the floor by his station, tracing his fingers over the lines of one of Harry’s favorite mugs, the one he painted with a tiny little red riding hood, the wolf slinking around the other side of the cup, each of them leaving tiny gray footfalls on the ceramic. He looks almost forlorn and Harry wants to protect him somehow, put the smile back on his face or least make sure whatever made it slip away can never touch Louis again.

He’s not wearing his usual ensemble of rolled up jeans and fitted top, just a pair of baggy sweatpants and loose tee shirt with some band Harry hasn’t heard of pasted across the front.

“Not that I mind,” Harry begins quietly, setting his backpack down with a thump that jolts Louis out of whatever stupor he’s fallen into. “But is there any reason you’re hiding in my corner?”

Louis looks up like he’s surprised to see him, gingerly setting the cup down with a quick clatter of pottery against concrete. “You come here in the mornings?” 

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Yes. I come here a lot.”

“Oh.” Louis nods. “I can see that.”

“I thought you hung out in the choir hallway?” Harry asks, sliding onto his stool so he’s looking down at Louis, who still looks a bit like a lost puppy.

“I wasn’t in the mood this morning.” Louis replies, a small smile curling across his features. “They’re sweet, but they never shut up.”

Harry laughs. “You picked a really strange activity if you wanted avoid noise.”

Louis shrugs. “I like noise. Just not all the time.”

Harry smiles down at Louis, liking the way he’s just a little bit difficult sometimes, how sometimes he hates everyone just as much Harry does. How he hides it just a little better. He wants to touch him, to reach down and feel the planes of his cheeks and push his tongue past his smile. He could do it, he knows, there’s nothing stopping him from sliding off his chair and pushing Louis onto the ground and kissing him until the bell rings. 

Except maybe that he can’t exactly go around kissing any boy he pleases. It’s a little bit too early in the morning for rejection.

“Well I’ll promise to be quiet then.” Harry says, rummaging in his backpack for his English book, cracking it open and starting in on the chapter he was supposed to read last night. 

“I don’t mind when you talk.” Louis says, stretching his arms high over his head with a yawn. He seems a little bit less dispirited than before, eyes a little brighter, a soft smile curling across his face. “Just other people.”

Harry tries to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

xx

 

He’s sitting next to Louis during lunch when he notices. It’s becoming a habit, sitting in the warm light of the dressing room while they eat: him, Liam, Zayn, Perrie, Louis, and Niall. Louis is scribbling madly away at an essay, frown lines appearing on his forehead as he concentrates.

It’s not that Harry really thinks he’s his mysterious gift giver, but he can’t help peeking over the top of his folder, because there’s always that part of him that wonders, that hopes. His breath catches in his throat as he sees the familiar sloping hand, looping letters that slide across the paper. 

“Oh.” He says quietly, a chip halfway to his mouth.

“Yes?” Louis asks, tipping his folder to his chest so his essay is concealed, but Harry just stares, feeling awestruck and dumbstruck and starstruck all at once. There’s an almost nervous glint to his eye, like he knows what’s on Harry’s mind and doesn’t quite know if he wants him to bring it up or not.

He works his face into a smile, shaking his curls out. “Nothing. Just spacing out.”

“Gotcha.” Louis replies, but Harry’s pretty sure he knows he’s been staring.

Harry wants to tell him, let him know the game is up, but he words are all stuck in his throat and he can feel the moment slipping out of his grasp. Part of him can’t really believe it. He barely knows Louis, why would Louis pay attention to him?

Louis has always been on his periphery, that bright eyed, brown haired boy who was friends with some of his friends, but Harry never really paid attention to him. It’s a survival strategy really. Louis is too fun for Harry, too pretty and hilarious and outgoing and so it’s really better to just talk to Zayn and Liam and Perrie and no one else. 

But maybe Louis notices him. Maybe Louis sees him and thinks he’s good enough, and that makes his whole body feel a little bit light because that means Louis thinks his face goes cute when he smiles and that he’s completely lovely.

“Hey Louis?” He says after a while, tapping his finger against Louis’ knee. 

Louis looks up again. “Yeah?”

“I like your handwriting.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows, biting his bottom lip as he fights a grin. “What an interesting compliment, Harry.”

Harry just smiles, an idea forming in his brain. “Isn’t it?”

 

xx

 

He ends up on Louis’ doorstep three days before Christmas, jumpy and nervous and a little bit chilly. Louis’ house is a typical cute suburban home, with tiny porch and red brickwork, one big window in front that lets him peek into the living room where a christmas tree lights up the space. 

His hand hovers over the doorbell for a moment, but he pulls back before he can ring it, chickening out for the third time. Harry is sure Louis’ father is a perfectly nice man, but the possibility of having to talk to him is really one he’d like to avoid it at all costs. He pulls his flip phone out of his pocket instead, thankful that he scrounged Louis’ number off Perrie as he sends off a quick text.

 

Harry 7:43

\- Come outside xx

 

As he waits for a reply, blowing warm air onto his half numb fingers, it starts to spit snow, the tiny flakes collecting on the blacktop and resting on Harry’s collar. He’s about to turn tail and pretend he was never here in the first place when he gets a text back.

 

Louis 7:46

Are you going to stand out there all night?

 

Harry takes a step back, looking up at the upstairs windows. Two of them have their curtains drawn closed, but the one on the left has a face pressed to the glass.

 

Harry 7:46

I was kind of hoping you’d let me in.

 

The face disappears, and Harry can hear the patter of feet on stairs before the door comes open. Louis is wearing a woolen sweater and sweat pants that barely come to his ankles and he looks adorable in the half light of the entryway, a warm smile on his face. “I wasn’t expecting you.” He says, pulling back and gesturing for Harry to come in.

Harry looks over at him in alarm, wondering if maybe this had been the wrong decision. “You don’t mind do you?”

Louis shrugs. “Not at all, though I would have at least put some proper pants on if I’d had any warning.”

Harry shrugs. “You look cozy.”

“You look cold.” Louis replies, leaning up against the wall, surveying Harry with an amused grin. “What’s in the bag?”

Harry looks down at the bag in his hand, having briefly forgotten it. “Oh. Oh it’s a present. A present for you.”

Louis smiles brightly. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He hands it over, letting Louis peer inside. “You can open it now if you’d like.”

Louis nods, digging into the tissue paper and pulling out a sturdy white mug, a pudgy green eyed raccoon eating a cupcake by the handle while a sleek blue eyed fox slinks towards him. Louis’ face lights up as he examines the cup in his hands, looking positively delighted by the whole thing.

It’s only when he turns it over that his face softens, a surprised little gasp escaping his lips. On the bottom, painted in curly black script are a few words.

 

I want you to know, you’re the first thought. xx

 

“You’re a very cute raccoon.” He says finally, sounding just a little bit off balance. Harry feels a little off balance too. “I- Did you seriously make this?”

Harry nods, shuffling his feet as he looks down at the tile. “Yeah, I already had the mug, I mean I just painted it, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing at all.” He can hear the clink of ceramic as Louis sets the cup down and then suddenly Louis is in his space, hands hovering next to his cheeks so they’re eye to eye. Louis is just a little bit shorter than him, he’d only have to duck down a little bit and they’d be kissing.

“Oh.”

“I want you to know the grace you’re made of.” Louis begins quietly, tilting his head a tiny bit to the side. “I want you to feel that you’re mine dear.”

Harry smiles, because he knows how this song goes. And it’s so cliche but its Christmastime and if that’s the wrong time for cheesy cliches he doesn’t know what the right time is. “I want you to know.”

Louis grins, all white teeth and pink mouth and then Harry closes the gap between them, kissing the smile off of his lips. He’s gorgeous and Harry is almost afraid to touch him, completely in awe of Louis as his hands as crawl up into his hair, his lips as they curl against his. 

Louis pushes him back against the wall, taking as much as Harry will give him. He slips his hands onto Louis’ waist, creeping under the soft wool of his sweater to touch the soft skin of his lower back even though he isn’t quite sure he’s allowed.

Finally Louis pulls back. “This is okay right, you’re okay with this?”

“So okay with it.” 

Louis barely lets him get the words out before they’re kissing again, figuring out how they fit together 

Louis finally comes up for air, and Harry likes the way his breath is just a little bit quick. “My mum is going to be home in like, ten minutes.”

“Too bad.” Harry replies, burying his head in Louis’ shoulder.

“But I mean, ten minutes is a good amount of time.” Louis says slowly, tugging a bit on Harry’s curls, a sly smile on his face.

Harry smiles. “You could do quite a bit in ten minutes.”

Louis nods. “Good thing too, because I was really not done kissing you.”

If Harry’s being honest, he’s not sure he’s ever going to be done kissing Louis.

**Author's Note:**

> Wohoo! That's all of them, I think! Hope you guys enjoyed my foray into holiday oneshots and I hope you all have a very Larry christmas and a homoerotic new year! (:


End file.
